The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

go soon.
‘Do you know what I hate about you?’ she said finally, giving his ear a tweak. ‘You’re so bloody
proud and stubborn you can’t even ask if it was to you.’
‘Well,’ Harry said, taking the half-smoked cigarette and admiring her naked body as she jumped out
of bed, ‘why would I want to know?’
‘For the same reason Birte’s husband did. To reveal the lie. To have the truth out in the open.’
‘Do you think the truth will make Filip Becker any less unhappy?’
She pulled the sweater over her head, a tight-fitting black one in coarse wool that lay straight over
her soft skin. It occurred to Harry that if he was jealous of anything, it was the sweater.
‘Do you know what, herr Hole? For someone whose job it is to uncover unpleasant truths you
certainly enjoy living a lie.’
‘OK,’ Harry said, stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Out with it then.’
‘It was in Moscow while I was with Fjodor. There was a Norwegian attaché at the embassy I had
trained with. We fell head over heels in love.’
‘And?’
‘He was also in a relationship. As we were about to finish with our respective partners she got in
first and told him she was pregnant. And since by and large I have good taste as far as men go ’
Pulling on her boots, she screwed up her top lip. ‘I had of course chosen someone who would not
desert his responsibilities. He applied for a transfer back to Oslo, and we never saw each other
again. And Fjodor and I got married.’
‘And straight afterwards you became pregnant?’
‘Yes.’ She buttoned up her coat and looked down at him. ‘Now and then I’ve wondered whether it
was to get over him. And whether Oleg was a product not of love but of love-sickness. Do you
think he was?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Harry said. ‘I just know he’s one great product.’
She smiled down at him in gratitude and stooped to give him a kiss on the forehead. ‘We’ll never
see each again, Hole.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, sitting up in bed and staring at the bare wall until he heard the heavy door
on to the street close behind her with a dull thud. Then he walked into the kitchen, turned on the tap
and took down a glass from the top cupboard. While waiting for the water to run cold his gaze fell
on the calendar with the picture of Oleg and Rakel in the sky-blue dress and then onto the floor.
There were two wet boot prints on the lino. They must have been Rakel’s.
He donned his coat and boots, was about to leave, then turned, fetched his Smith & Wesson service
revolver from the top of the wardrobe and stuffed it in his coat pocket.
The lovemaking was still in his body like a quiver of well-being, a mild intoxication. He had